


Forgetting

by Lost_Muse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Romance, Community: HPFT, Complete, Dark, Drama, F/M, Harry Potter Next Generation, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 12:24:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7103269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lost_Muse/pseuds/Lost_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose tries to forget.</p><p>[Won First Place in Wolfgirl's Dark Turn Challenge.]</p><p>One Shot | Complete</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgetting

_Amazing banner by cleopatra. @ TDA._

 

* * *

 

There are ten thousand and eight hundred seconds until she can see him. One hundred and eighty endless minutes. Three long hours. She tries not to count. Tries, but fails.  
  
The clock continues to tick; hours, minutes, seconds passing. Rose sits motionless, watching, breathing, counting. The  _thump thump thump_ of her heart is the only sound in the room.  
  
Her thoughts are a reckless splash of memories on blank canvas. There is no beginning, no middle, no end. Only darkness, waiting, and somewhere underneath the numbness, love.  
  
(if it can be called that)  


* * *

  
  
  
(she tries to forget the almond shape of his eyes, the little crease between his brows, the sparkle in his eyes when he laughs)  
  
Scorpius Malfoy rarely laughed, but when he did, it was exquisite. The first time she had heard it, Rose had known she was falling hard and fast for her best friend. His joy - pure and so full of light, fascinated her. She could watch him for hours, matching her smiles to his.   


* * *

  
  
  
(she tries to forget the curve of his lips when he smiles, the soft dent of the dimple on his left cheek, the slight tilt of his head)  
  
His face flashes before her closed lids, dancing amidst the spots of blue.   
  
It feels like yesterday that she sat in the bar alongside him, downing Firewhiskey, desperate to get away from the chaos in her home.  
  
They had found it amusing then - how seven years of schooling had not seen Rose and Scorpius exchange a word and yet there they were, three years later, sharing drunken stories of screaming parents and broken relationships. Forming a bond over their mutual worries and woes.   
  
A bond that lasted five years. Five years of friendship, happiness, laughter. Of light like she had never known.   
  
She hadn’t realised when it had started. When the drunken meetings changed to sober ones, when the bars changed to restaurants, and when the late night hours changed to long sunny days. It had happened and she had not complained.   
  
Not complained until her heart began aching and the darkness seeped back in. Until the hours of light and laughter, of care and conversations wasn’t enough. She had wanted more. Wanted his touch, his love, his kisses, his worship.   


* * *

  
  
  
(she tries to forget the longing glances, the hopeful sighs, the discrete touches; her drunken confession, his startled look, her fake indifference, his pitiful apology)  
  
She tries to forget but she remembers.   
   
Remembers the days of awkwardness, the infrequent meetings, the distance, his constant owls, her determined ignorance, the ache in her chest, his fading out.   


* * *

  
  
  
Rose glances at the clock. A few more minutes and he’d be here. She hasn’t seen him in so long.  _So long_. She wonders if he will come alone.   
  
The clock ticks the final second and she counts.  _One. Two. Three_.  _Four._  A knock on the door. He is here and for the first time in months, she smiles.   
  
A flick of her wand and he comes in, calling out to her, stumbling a little in the darkness.   
  
The low mutter that escapes his lips is all it takes for her to jump up from her chair and crash into his arms. It is as if the past ten months of time apart did not happen.   
  
(behind them, the clock ticks by)  
  
Except they did.  


* * *

  
  
  
Rose moves away from him, ignoring the long stream of questions he asks. She allows his voice to wash over her, taking in every little breath he takes.  
  
She counts, the wand gripped tight in her hand.  
  
(five more breaths)  
  
She had thought forgetting would be easy. A little Firewhiskey, some days apart, and the darkness would be gone.  
  
But then, she’d seen the announcement in the  _Prophet._ A picture and a short paragraph. The walls she had built for months had come crumbling down.  
  
She raises her wand. Surprise flickers in his eyes, and his question falls on deaf ears.  
  
(she tries to forget the hours of nothingness, the bouts of hysteria, the clench of her heart, the tears in her eyes, the sting of rejection)  
  
Four seconds and he falls.   
  
She watches his still form, his blank eyes, his pale skin.   
  
Even in death, he is exquisite.   
  
(now she can forget)


End file.
